Chapter 4: What Was in the Unit
The storage facility was twelve minutes from the house.
Mason drove.
Emma sat in the passenger seat with Lily between them, Scout in the back.
Brent and Nicole followed in their own car — because Mason had looked at Brent and said, very quietly, "You're going to want to be there for this," and something in his tone made argument impossible.
The facility manager was a heavyset man named Gerald who recognized Mason's name immediately.
"Mr.
Mason.
Been a while since anyone came by."
"I've never been here before," Mason said.
Gerald looked at him.
Then at the key Mason placed on the counter.
"Unit 14.
Your brother's been the one coming in.
Every couple of weeks, regular as anything." He paused.
"I assumed you knew."
"Show me."
Unit 14 was at the end of the second row.
A standard roll-up door, padlocked.
The key fit.
Mason pulled the door up.
Emma made a sound behind him.
Not a word.
Just a breath, sharp and short.
The unit was not empty.
Along the left wall: filing boxes, stacked four high, each one labeled in black marker.
Mason read the labels.
His name.
Emma's name.
Their home address.
Dates going back two years.
Along the right wall: furniture.
A dining table he didn't recognize.
Chairs.
A dresser.
A box labeled KITCHEN — GOOD SET.
"That's my mother's table," Emma said.
Her voice was very quiet.
"She left it to me.
When she passed.
Brent told me it was damaged in the move and they'd had to dispose of it."
Lily was already moving toward the filing boxes.
She pulled the top one down and opened it.
Inside: documents.
Statements.
Correspondence.
All of it addressed to Mason or Emma, all of it intercepted before it reached them.
Mason picked up the first envelope.
Opened it.
A letter from a law firm.
Dated fourteen months ago.
Subject: Estate of Patricia Harlow.
He looked at Emma.
"Who is Patricia Harlow?"
Emma's face went white.
"That's my aunt.
She — she passed away two years ago.
Brent told me she didn't leave a will.
That everything went to the state."
Mason looked at the letter in his hand.
He read the first paragraph out loud.
"'Dear Mrs.
Emma Mason, we are writing to inform you that as the sole named beneficiary of the estate of Patricia Harlow, you are entitled to receive the sum of—'"
"That's enough." Brent's voice came from the doorway of the unit.
He'd followed them in.
Nicole stood just behind him.
"Four hundred and thirty thousand dollars," Mason finished.
The number sat in the air of the storage unit like something physical.
Lily turned from the filing box.
"There's more.
There are bank statements in here.
Transfers.
Brent's name is on all of them."
Nicole grabbed Brent's arm.
"We need to go.
Right now.
We need to call—"
"You're not going anywhere," Mason said.
He turned to face his brother fully for the first time since the backyard.
Brent was still standing in the doorway.
His face had changed.
The smile from earlier was completely gone.
In its place was something Mason recognized from a long time ago — the look Brent got as a boy when he'd been caught, when there was no more room to talk his way out.
"You stole from my wife," Mason said.
"While I was serving.
While she was alone.
While my daughter was in that house with you."
"Mason—"
"You locked them in a kennel to stop them from showing me a piece of paper."
"It wasn't like—"
"How long?" Mason said.
"How long has this been going on?"
Brent said nothing.
Nicole's hand tightened on his arm.
From the back of the unit, Lily held up another document.
May you like
"Dad.
There's a deed in here."
